AS AN utterly mesmerised small boy in short trousers, over from England for the summer, my best days at my uncle's house in County Mayo were spent paddling among the mossy rocks in the nearby stream, just before it’s foamy waters swirled down to the empty beach and into roaring Atlantic. That magic returned for a couple of idyllic hours after I found myself paddling along another babbling brook in Kuldiga, an ancient gem of a small town in Western Latvia, criss-crossed by shiny waterways and nicknamed ‘the Venice of the North.’ What a treat. This time the creaking legs were wobblier and a hiking stick, along with chest-high waders, were needed to try to avoid a watery spill. But all the fun of that infantile immersion came pouring back to…